Boy With the Blues
by Johnny Strange
Summary: When former director Shepard's teenaged nephew is accused of murdering the son of a prominent Naval family, Team Gibbs is forced to wade through mounds of political red tape in order to unearth the victim's dark secrets. Meanwhile, the case reopens old wounds for Tony. Features: Gibbs and Tony with a father/son vibe and Ziva and Tony bonding.


AN: My good buddy Flash McGowen originally published this story some years ago. She graciously allowed me to revamp it and continue it! She also lent her skill to help me write this chapter.

I hope you all enjoy it!

*reposted and re-edited: 12/2/12*

* * *

_This chapter contains mentions of child abuse. It isn't graphic, but I usually appreciate warnings, figured you all might. _

Chapter One: Monsters

The soft skin, the scent of them, clean or dirty, drove Him wild.

He loved to watch them, groups of them, beautiful boys, as they raced through halls, playing the games boys played.

He befriended them, coaxing them with compliments or smiles, sometimes with money and sometimes all three.

He'd been able to touch some of them, been further with a select few.

None of them told. Not one. They couldn't, it was their fault too. They were just as dirty. It made them feel good too. He'd convinced them and they believed him. They always believed Him.

"What would your parents say if they found out what we did?"

It always worked. His words like super glue on quivering lips.

Their fathers were scions of some of East Coast's first families. Their mothers were socialites, the crème de la crème of high society. Others were members of major political and military powerhouses. Their patrician relatives would be ashamed of them if they found out. Blame them, possibly. Disown them, certainly. Disinherit them, definitely. Then they'd end up penniless and alone. And they'd have no one to blame but themselves!

He, too, was a man of elite extraction. He came from an affuential Naval family, an old line of distinguished Annapolis graduates and high-ranking officers. He had connections. He'd rubbed elbows with people who could make things happens for him and to his enemies. They didn't want to be his enemies, did they?

Much to His father's delight, He got himself appointed headmaster of an elite male preparatory school in Maryland. They came to him in droves, the schoolboys. The lonely ones, whose parents were more concerned about fluctuations in the stock market and tony soirées than their affection starved sons. The awkward, self-conscious ones, smelling of pimple cream and shame, wanting someone to make them feel worthy and special. The brilliant ones, who yearned to be treated as equals instead of snot-nosed schoolboys.

And he nourished them—all of them—cradling their fragile little egos in his hands. They'd fed him too, making him feel worthy in a way his father never could. Once sated, he moved on to greener, younger, pastures—leaving a many a disjointed boy in his wake.

Some of them didn't take the rejection well. Many filled the void with drugs, others climbed head first into the bottle. Some of them beat their wives. A few beat their kids. One had followed in His footsteps, though he was stupid enough to get caught. Another joined the military, only to hang himself three days into basic training.

But they never told, never even considered it.

Until Josh.

Josh, with his flinty, hawk-like eyes and dimples.

It had been easy for so long. With those boys. He didn't have to worry about the risk that came with the children whose families lived in the town surrounding the old campus. His boys were easier than His late wife and all the other grown women who'd tried, and failed, to take her place. He could get those boys to do whatever He wanted, anything He asked, and they was smart enough not to ask for anything real in return.

He kept his quarters stocked with toys, video games, and all the things the boys liked. He took the boys to various sports games and on lavish vacations. The gifts endeared the boys to Him in the first place. The gifts kept them quiet, and the gifts were all those boys had left when He finished touching them and distorting their innocent minds.

Decades passed and those boys never told and Josh was no different—at first.

Josh couldn't tell. It was his fault too, didn't he know that? He was just as dirty. It felt good sometimes, didn't it? What would his friends think? He convinced him and Josh started to believe him again. The boys always believed Him.

So naturally He was surprised when Josh, now too tall for his age and already disenchanted with the world, emptied the gun anywhere the bullets could fit.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

As He slid down the cold, hard walls of his quarters, the crimson life trailing behind Him like a cape, He remembered thinking, as he stared at the black steel in Josh's hands: it's just a toy.

* * *

"I don't need you!"

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo shot to consciousness, startled by the words tumbling from his mouth. Deafening and spiteful. He knew he was screaming because the words still ricocheted from the walls of his bedroom.

They were bitter, the words, sour as rotten milk on his tongue. The words stayed with him, ringing in his mind as she stumbled toward the shower. He turned on the water and stepped into it, almost oblivious to the cold temperature, and leaned his head against the moist tile. He squeezed his eyes shut, placing his hands over his ears to keep the words out completely. That didn't help at all. The words weren't outside, sitting on his bed, waiting for him to come and talk. They were in his mind, festering.

The last words he'd said to…

No, he wouldn't think about Him.

Not now. Not ever.

It had been years since then, since he'd opened his mouth to say what he needed or didn't. He'd been self-sufficient for half his life—until he met Gibbs.

As if summoned, Tony's cell phone rang and he didn't need to look at it to see Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs' name flash across the screen.

Not bothering to dry off, Tony rushed to his room—half slipping, half gliding—and snatched the screaming device from his nightstand. It flopped in his wet hand like a freshly caught fish, but he'd managed to mash the 'talk' button.

"DiNozzo."

"Grab your gear and get down here. We've got a situation."

Gibbs wasn't one for good mornings. Tony wondered if he'd had his coffee yet.

Tony shook away the thought. His boss probably slept with an IV in his arm, feeding him the caffeinated beverage intravenously.

"I'll be there, Boss."

The line went dead without so much as a goodbye.

Tony flipped the phone closed with a shrug. "Story of my life."

* * *

Tony arrived at NCIS to find Abby and Ziva hovered in front of the latter's computer, exchanging surreptitious whispers and conspiratorial glances. He sauntered over to his section of the bullpen, sneaking probing peeks as he went. Draping his coat behind his chair before sitting, he quickly jotted a few lines onto a piece of scratch paper and lobbed it at McGee.

"Really?" he groaned, peeling the note open. "No Tony," he tossed the paper into the trash with a smirk. "I have no idea what—_those two!—_are up to."

"Oh, for crying aloud Tony," Ziva pushed out an exasperated groan. "Why must you always pry into my private life?"

Tony eyed the man with theatrical obviousness. "Uh, 'cause it's interesting?"

"You can tell the green jealous monster screaming in your ear to vamoose, T-Man," Abby smiled at him across the expanse that separated the desks. "Ziva and I were just comparing calendars. She's generously offered to join McGee and I in volunteering to help Habitat for Humanity rebuild houses damaged by Sandy."

"Why didn't you guys ask me?" he poked his lip out. "I'm pretty handy when I wanna be."

"Please Tony, you can barely change a tire."

"Hey! It was raining that night, Zee-Vah!"

"Remember when I asked you to help me fix the pipe under my sink and you ended up flooding my kitchen?"

"Silence McDwells-a-lot! The point is: I can be of some help."

Abby winked at him. "We'll keep you in mind, Tony.

"Whatever. You know what, why you guys vegging out anyway? Gibbs made the 'situation' sound pretty dire over the phone."

"Oh, it is," McGee angled his head toward Vance's office. "Admiral J. August Travers' son was murdered early this morning."

"_The_ Admiral Travers? Of _those _Travers?"

"Exactly. The admiral stormed straight up to Vance's office, screaming his head off about a cover up."

Tony stood. "This I gotta see!"

"Are you sure you wanna get in the middle of that," Abby cringed. "There's a colossal sized pissing contest going on up there. We wouldn't you to get caught in the steam."

"I learned how to duck a long time ago," he shrugged on his sport coat and with a quick grin at his teammates, he spirited up the stairs.

* * *

Abby had been right, he discovered as he inched closer to Vance's office. There was definitely trouble in River City and Admiral Travers was at the helm of it. Vance was futilely attempting to abate the shit storm around one of his beloved toothpicks while Gibbs phlegmatically filled in the blanks with pertinent facts, both to the Admiral's chagrin.

"Spare me the blandishments, Vance. That boy killed my son and I'd like to know just want you and your agents plan to do about it!"

Vance eased the toothpick out of his mouth, trading furtive glances with Gibbs, before he focused his attention on the livid admiral leaning over his desk. "Admiral Travers, rest assured Sir, we will do everything we can to find your son's killer."

"That's what you say now, but what about when you find him? Do you—you think I'm stupid, don't you? I didn't earn these stars by sitting around with my thumbs in my ass while somebody yanks my chain! I know politics. I know how this game works. I already see your wheels turning, Vance. You're already trying to cover this up!"

"Nobody's covering—"

"Bullshit Leon! Bullshit! And you," he turned his ire on a stone-faced Gibbs. "I don't even know why you're being allowed to participate in this investigation in the first place."

"We've already issued an Amber Alert for the boy," Vance interjected when Gibbs didn't rise to the bait. "We're hoping to bring him in as quietly as possible."

"An Amber Alert? That little bastard wasn't kidnapped! He's a cold-blooded murderer and he ought to be treated as such, dammit! You know," Travers, allowed himself a deep breath and crammed his fists into pockets of crisp uniform slacks. "Just know that I'm on to you, Gibbs. I know exactly how men like you think: what better way to honor your beloved Jennifer Shepard than to help her psychopathic nephew beat murder charges. I tell you what though: you can obstruct justice all you want, but I'll see that boy pay—and I dare either one of you to try to stop me!"

With that, he stormed out of Vance's office, jostling Tony's shoulders as the agent was stepping over the transom.

"Uh, when did Director Shepard get a nephew?"

"When her sister Heather had a son. DiNozzo, meet Jasper Orville Shepard III, Josh for short," Vance swiveled his computer monitor around to face Tony. "An eighth grader at Abernathy Prep's Middle School, Jenny Shepard's thirteen year old nephew and our prime suspect in Headmaster J. Purvis Travers' murder."

Tony's eyes immediately slammed into Gibbs'. "What are we gonna do, Boss?"

"What's right, DiNozzo."

Tony frowned at his boss' retreating back before sweeping his gaze over the Facebook picture of Josh Shepard's baby face. He couldn't help but be troubled by the vacant, desolate pits were the kid's eyes should have been. With a swift nod of his head at Vance, he followed Gibbs' lead and retreated. As he rounded the corner toward the stairs, something told him his definition of right would be forever altered by after the case.


End file.
